


The Road is Long [We Carry On]

by onefootonego (startingXI)



Series: No Remedy [For Memory] [2]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Do anything for family, Gen, ambiguous post season one pre season two setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startingXI/pseuds/onefootonego
Summary: [i love you, Kara had said] [you didn't even say it back, never had the chance] (or: there is trauma in Kara nearly dying that consumes Alex whole)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a companion piece to "It's You [It's All for You]" and as such I reccomend reading that first. you don't have to of course, but this one will make a lot more sense.

you're sick. 

all over barry’s shoes. 

hands and knees press into damp, raw soil and you are heaving. blinded by tears, sick with panic [and crossing three counties in seconds], you scrabble for your phone. 

“Kara,” you are saying “i need to call Kara.” you can not find your phone. for all you know it, and your only connection to your sister, are shattered somewhere between here and national city. 

“i have to call Kara.” you repeat, arms shaking, chest tight. 

you have never, ever, been so scared. Kara’s voice cracking as _I love you_ leaves her lips - those sacred words echo inside your very being.

“please.” you say, you are begging, sobbing, scared. 

the last minute is playing on repeat. you are helpless to it. literally, one minute you are having coffee, the next your sister, your little sister is crying, talking about dying to protect you. the world is spinning madly on, but everything for you feels slow. 

you feel your pulse, you hear the wind moving around you. you feel your entire body trying to catch up with where you are. in every sense. 

you're sick, again. there will be an apology in future times, but right now you can only think of Kara. she was so scared. so alone. you don't even know where she is. god. you don't really believe in the concept, but for this moment, you are praying. you are praying that Kara is alive, that she's safe, that somehow she was wrong. 

[she said she had a bomb, that she had to take it]

“why am i here?” you force out, barry pulling you slowly to your feet. 

[he eyes you, unsteady as you are. he eyes his shoes, they are a lost cause] 

he takes a deep breath, and his answer is utterly unsatisfactory “i got a call from superman, said the only thing that mattered was getting you out of wherever you were. so here we are.” 

his phone rings. 

you practically rip it from his hand. 

“clark,” you choke, “clark is she okay?” 

“ _i’m taking her to deo._ ” 

which is an answer of no kind. your mind races, is she dead? is he taking her body to the deo? you need to know. 

“clark,” you repeat,“Kara, is she alive?”

“ _for now_.” he says and you have never heard him so grave. 

getting to the deo is your only option. seeing Kara [alive, again you pray, you need her alive] getting answers from clark, trying to hold what little there is left of you together. 

“i need to get to the deo.” you tell barry, voice hollow, clutching his phone like it can take you to Kara. 

it can't, but he can. he does. 

you do not stop to thank him. your feet find ground, you are running, running to the only place Kara can be - medical bay six, designed specifically for her. clark, j’onn and lucy have beat you to it. 

beyond their hunched shoulders, you see supergirl colors. you see tatters of the dress you helped Kara pick out this morning. you see burnt edges, smoke rising and god, you're going to be sick again. 

you force it down. push past your commanding officer, past clark and lucy who part like the red sea for you. you grip the edge of the table, you can not force down the gasp that rips from your chest. 

Kara is almost in pieces. 

plural. 

exposed bone, blood - so much blood - muscle, sinewy fibers and god you recognized the work of a bomb when you see it. 

“is she-” you ask, looking to clark. 

“alive.” he says quietly, you have known him a long time and even though he is nodding, he looks pale. he looks just as scared as you. 

“all we can do is put her under the sun lamps and monitor her status.” j’onn is saying, you hear the words and are sure they register somewhere, but your gaze is back on Kara. 

you can tell she was crying. you can tell she was scared - you have known that look on her far too many times. and every other time, almost exactly, you have been able to be there. or get there. you were able to soothe her fear. 

not this time. 

this time she might die and you still don't know why it was brought upon her. who did this. what happened. all you know is she is ripped apart. 

“we’ll give you the room.” j’onn says, lucy squeezes your hand but the touch goes lost on you. 

you turn to clark, you know he saved her, but also this is his fault. you know it, you know from the guilt in his eyes. 

“how,” you start, fear turning to pure anger, it's unfair sure, but you can't help it, you need to lash out [he won't feel it anyway, maybe] “how did my little sister get like this?” 

you gesture to Kara, so small, so fragile under the sun lamps, you can practically see her body working, fighting to repair itself. the thready rhythm of her heart is all you have right now. 

“it's my fault.” clarke says and that much you know, that much you have already put on him “powerful people were trying to get to me.” he says “trying to hurt me.” 

“they missed.” you snap “they missed and now Kara,” you can't even finish the sentence, you can not entertain _that_ possibility. not with Kara's words ringing in your ears, sitting at the base of your skull, a reminder that she chose those to be her last. 

[i love you]

[you didn't even say it back] 

“alex,” clark says, holding his hands up, trying to calm you, but in this there is no calm. this was not superman and supergirl, this was superman and Kara. Kara your little sister. Kara who you promised to protect. Kara who might die. 

“get out.” you say, finding level in your voice even as your world continues to collapse around you “now clark.” 

“she's my -” he starts, and no, right now he has no right. 

“she called me,” you tell him, reliving the minute “she tried to play it off. tried to tell me that she was going to be late for pizza night. but i could tell something was wrong, i could hear it in her voice. she was scared clark, she was so scared. it's my job to protect Kara, long before she became supergirl she became my sister.” you level a look at him and tears burn “she may be your cousin, but she's my little sister. and you almost got her killed.” 

for there is the crux, supergirl dying is an equally terrible idea, but a notion you have had to think about and deal with. but Kara? Kara your little sister? your overworked, underpaid, always hungry, and terrible at sharing with basically anyone but you, little sister? she was supposed to be safe from bombs and death and dying. 

instead you have this. 

you are left with a terrifyingly slow heartbeat, and the possibility that she who you love most in the world, who would do anything for, may have paid the ultimate price in return. 

because of clark. because of superman. you can not look at him without wanting to hit him. without wanting to drag him from the room. in this moment it doesn't matter that he could feel as badly as you do. you don't care. 

Kara is your little sister. 

you round on him, ready to tell him to leave all over again. but he is gone. the room is empty. the usually translucent glass, now opaque. a little victory for privacy. in the near silence you sag, you fall to your knees and everything you have tried to hold in spills from you. tears drag themselves from you, soaking your shirt. you can not care. you only think of Kara. of how you failed her. 

\-- 

you barely dare to touch her. 

the sunlamps seem to be doing their job, revitalizing her wrecked kryptonian cells, spurring along the healing process, but she hasn't stirred. nor have you really. not trying to keep it together, you sit by her side in a chair you think j’onn brings. your hand sits, barely touching, on her arm. the one part of Kara seemingly unmarred by destruction. 

“wake up.” you whisper quietly “please. please.” you take shaking breaths “i can't do this without you.” 

nothing. 

just the beating of her heart. 

\-- 

the first time Kara stirs you are in a space between exhaustion and overt hyper awareness. you catch the blinking of her eyes, the registered look of confusion, the fear that descends almost at once. 

“clark?” she asks, her voice too loud, off kilter. 

you keep a touch on her arm, grounding her as you have done for so many years with something so simple. 

you know both her eardrums are ruptured. there's an explanation from clark somewhere, but you still haven't been able to look at him. it's been two days and you are still so angry. 

[anger fueled by fear] 

[she could still die] 

[you could still lose everything] 

she moves her head, you see the strain it puts on her system and you move for her. feeling the warm glow of sunlamps on the back of your neck, “i’m here.” you promise, but her eyes are closed before you finish the words. 

\-- 

j’onn tries to coax you into eating, or drinking. only when he threatens to take you to medical do you concede. your stomach allows a bottle of gatorade and half a sandwich before it revolts. you keep what you can down, remind yourself small sips and work your way up. 

[you have so neglected yourself sitting here by Kara’s side] 

[you would do it all again, will continue to] 

\-- 

the next time she wakes, she doesn't move. you hear the increase in her heart from the monitor, you watch her blink quickly. you recognize the signs of crying before they, the tears, stream down her temples. 

you don't need to, but you move your hand from her arm, wiping them away. you need her to know you’re here, and even this action you have done too many times before. 

\-- 

she would have nightmares when you were kids, worse than any you've ever known, or had. you have carried many bruises from fighting her to consciousness, to have her sobbing in your arms, clinging to you, mumbling in a language you asked her to teach you. 

so you could help. 

so you could mumble, in admittedly terrible, kryptonese, words of comfort. earth wasn’t home, but you tried. 

you mumble those words know, even knowing she can't hear you. they bring comfort to you. and that much you need. 

\-- 

between her second and third wakings, you get the full story. j’onn comes in with clarke, dressed as clark. you know he's been coming every night, sitting outside Kara's room. he respects you too much to enter. 

even now he waits just outside the doors, waits until you nod him in. 

“i owe you a better explanation.” he says “the people responsible for this are no longer a threat.” 

you do not let go of Kara's arm, but you do look at him. you know j’onn is here as a buffer, he knows you well enough that hitting clark - superman or not - is still a very real possibility. 

“they found out who supergirl is, connected you to Kara. they knew one of the best ways to hurt me, was to hurt her. and to get her to wear the bomb, they threatened you. sniper with a rifle aimed at your head.” he tells you this factually, letting you process it. 

you want to blame him further, but he's nearly as devastated as you are. that much is plain to see. 

“you know Kara, she probably saw the bomb, saw they threatened you and took off. she was out over the pacific.” 

it's all well and good. understanding is good. knowing why helps soothe some angry part of you. but Kara still isn't awake and you can't forget that. 

you turn away from them both, focusing only on Kara. letting her heart rate calm you down again. her heart rate has become your lifeline. 

she lives, it tells you, she lives. 

\-- 

the sunlamps have been dimmed, to give her body time to heal on its own. five hours on, five hours off. you have the schedule on your phone, it helps to have something to focus on as you wait. 

you talk to her. you hold her hand and talk quietly, reading from one of her favourite books. it was brought to you by clark, a peace offering. 

[it worked a little] 

it's Kara's voice that tells you she's awake. 

“am I dead?” she asks, again her voice is off kilter, too loud, but it brings tears to your eyes regardless. 

you make sure she can see you, you and the tears. you shake your head. no, no, no she isn't dead. she might actually live. you press a kiss to her forehead, it's all you can think to do as her eyes flutter closed. 

\-- 

after that you are convinced to go shower. you have extra clothes in your locker and even though the shower is short, it makes you feel more human. you know james and winn have questions, but you can't face them. you're still trying to figure out how you will explain any of this to your mother. 

it helps to see clark talking to them, doing what you can't. 

it helps you forgive him. 

you nod him into Kara's room while you go for sustenance. he saved her, you remind yourself. and he saved you. everyone is alive. no one will be okay, not for a long time, but she is here because of him. 

\-- 

fed and showered, you return to Kara. clark looks a wreck and you break when you see the look in his eyes. you pull him into a hug and feel his restraint as he returns it. 

“she's alive.” you remind him. 

he doesn't speak, but he nods. 

\-- 

Kara starts to wake more frequently after that. her first real movements are twitches in her fingers, her hands. she blinks at you, twitching her hand until her fingers settle on your pulse. you watch, listen, as her own drops considerably, and she doesn't let you go. 

you are there every time she wakes. sometimes there are tears, others, half whispered words forced from chapped lips. you watch her get stronger, but still a part of you fears she might slip back into the shadows. you can not lose her. 

\--

you are finally convinced Kara might survive when she walks. it is a moment she shares with you alone. and the whiteboard. 

[her hearing is still gone and you can tell how much she hates it - and being in the deo] 

Kara sits herself up, your hand on the small of her back. she runs her hands down your forearm until she is gripping both of yours in hers. she meets your gaze and you see the way she bites the inside of her cheek. you squeeze her hands, a silent, ‘you've got this.’ 

she nods, you watch her stand on shaking legs. she never lets go and you never think to. 

it is laps after that. small laps, five steps out, five steps back. twice an hour until it's three times, then four. 

when she can walk to the door and back, stable and solo, you decide it's time to take her home. 

\-- 

you have the sunlamps moved to your apartment and make sure the deo is mostly empty before walking Kara to the car. 

she is shaking the whole way. not with the effort, but the discomfort of her body still finding itself, her deafness and the blind spots that gives her. you linger outside your car and pull her into a hug. 

you keep it short, but hold her hand the whole way home. all the way to your apartment. 

and it is there, finally, that you hug her properly. her body is still healing, but she sinks into your arms as easily as she always has and it shatters you. her mouthed words against your neck unleashes the sobs you've been holding back. you can't help it. and here, at home, you don't have to hide it. 

not at the deo where there are always eyes and ears. here, in your apartment, it is just the two of you. you and your little sister. and god she feels small in a way she never has before. 

\-- 

you know just the trip exhausted her, and Kara gives you pleading looks when you convey that you’ll sleep on the couch. 

[in hindsight, you should have known] 

that plan lasts only as long as it takes for the nightmares to seize her. 

you're barely asleep, on alert for something like this. this being Kara screaming herself hoarse in the seconds it takes you to reach her side. it is a scene all too familiar and you sink next to her, running your hands down her arms over and over again until her gaze settles on you. 

there are tears and her panicked breathing, but it is her words that strike you. the way she carefully pronounces them, in the off kilter way she's got, and studies you to make sure she got them right. 

[it’s like when you were kids, and Kara would practice english in the middle of the night and she thought you were asleep] 

“i need you.” 

you should have done this in the first place. 

you run your hands down her arms again, nodding once and pulling her close. she relaxes against you, and you against her. she grips your sleep shirt and buries her head against your chest. with her pressed against you like this, it is the first moment you feel truly relaxed since seeing her mostly dead. 

here you can protect her. 

\-- 

you both sleep for nearly a day. when you wake it is still dark, or dark again, and Kara hasn't moved. you pry yourself from her, moving quietly to the bathroom, to the kitchen. you know food hasn't been friendly to her stomach, but she will need to eat when she wakes. 

so it's sandwiches. peanut butter and jelly, no crusts. a favourite she won't admit to anyone. only you. 

she cries out your name, broken and too loud, as you're in the fridge. you bang your head against the freezer in your haste to get to her. you hear a thump, a crash, you round a corner and see Kara on the floor, hand grabbing at the wall, panic obvious on her face. 

“what-?” You start, but she cuts you off, grabbing at you, pulling herself to her feet and hugging you tight. 

her hand is curled around yours, feeling for your pulse, you recognize.

you stand there for long moments, until she forces the words out again “i was scared,” Kara says “that you were gone.” 

you kiss her forehead, a promise that you're not, that you're here. that she hasn't lost you. 

[and you haven't lost her]

you hold her close with one arm, carry sandwiches with the other. she is asleep again almost at once, pressed against you, fingertips resting on your pulse. 

\-- 

her recovery will take time, that much has always been obvious. but the little things are that which you note the most. 

the way she seeks, and you give, near constant contact as she recovers. it's watching tv and persuading her to eat - even though it almost always comes back up. she glares at you when her throat burns with bile, yet you keep trying. 

sharing the bed with her because the nightmares have always been strong, and this is one way you can protect her. 

keeping everyone else at bay. everyone - j’onn, clark, james, winn, even cat and what myth she knows. they all want to talk to Kara, want to see her. it is, as far as you're concerned, too much pressure right now. she still can't hear, you don't want her to feel pressure to recover faster. 

she is still so fragile. she feels so much like your little sister in these days that it is hard to try and move on. you do your best to not think about the phone call, the one that haunts your nightmares. the scenario where you don't get to hold her in your arms. 

the one where she is lost to an ocean. and you are lost without her. 

it brings you to tears, in the moments where she's in the shower, or asleep, or curled up reading. it's lucky she can't hear your ragged breaths as you blink hot tears back again and again. 

it is very real, how close you came to losing her. 

\-- 

“come on alex, just let us see her.” 

winn is irritatingly persistent. 

“no, i’m sorry.” and you are sorry, truly, you've asked and the way Kara’s face paled told you all you needed.

still, he probably waits outside the door for at least an hour. 

\-- 

you are sitting doing a crossword when you hear her collapse. it’s more a thud followed by a cry and you find her pressed into a corner, hands clamped over her ears, eyes squeezed shut. 

you are pained, but relieved, you assume it means her hearing has returned. 

you find the headphones that got you through college and slip them gently over her ears. the effect is immediate, her shoulders relax, she stands up. 

“Kara,” you say evenly “can you hear me?” 

she nods first, then slowly, without that uneven lilt, replies “I can hear you.” 

you break into a smile. her eyes are wet with tears and so are yours. but hers seem not that of relief, but something else. fear, perhaps as she starts speaking, rambling with words that trip over themselves.

“i had to do it. the box just showed up, they had a live feed of you, having coffee. they told me if i didn't put the vest on i would watch you die.” you can hear her voice giving way, she hasn't spoken this much in nearly two and a half weeks “i couldn't let you die.” 

it feels like she's been waiting to say that, to tell you that with her own spoken words. but you didn't need to hear it, you were never mad at her. 

“i know.” you tell her, because you do, you do know. 

and maybe that is what she needed to hear.

you run a hand through her hair, calming her, and you tell her of the fear you felt. it is not to blame her, it is so she understands. you need her to know how much you care, as if it was never obvious before. you kiss her temple. 

you guide her to the couch, headphones still on. 

you tell her what happened, about clark, about barry. you know she needs to understand as badly as you did. so you tell her. 

she lays with her head in your lap and you stroke what hair you can, “i just wanted you safe.” she tells you. 

you know, you know. 

\-- 

she takes the headphones off at night and you sit with her in the dark, in bed. you ease the tension from her shoulders, and wipe tears from your eyes when she says, later 

“i would die for you,” she is serious “i will never have to think twice.” 

“i know.” you tell her. 

she very nearly did. 

\-- 

as her hearing progresses and she can hear your heartbeat from rooms away, you feel yourself finally start to heal. it isn't that you couldn't when she was deaf, it's that you have devoted every second of the recent weeks to helping her, healing her. you have ignored parts of your own healing to ensure hers. 

you know you have work to get back to, eventually, but j’onn knows Kara is your top priority. in turn, he has made you his. in the phone calls you've shared he's talked of a psychologist, the words ‘mandatory’ and ‘before returning to duty’ are bandied about. you don't have much of a choice. you also know you need to talk to someone. if there's a counselor in the world who can understand what having your sister blown up feels like, you’ll go. 

in the end, you take the number of some woman clark recommends. 

you make the appointment. 

\-- 

before that time comes Kara's full hearing. and with it, a trip to the deo. it is her first since leaving, since she was tucked into your side. this time you protect her just as much, half a step in front, eyeing anyone who dares to look at Kara wrong. 

no one does. 

you smile as vasquez shakes Kara's hand and Kara’s head ducks, a familiar blush filling her cheeks. 

you keep a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to j’onn. you have your own meeting after hers, but you give them the privacy. it doesn't take your lip reading skills to figure out that it went well, that they are on the same page. 

you're far more nervous for your own meeting. 

\--

“alex,” he says “how are you doing?” 

you stand across from him “i’m,” you search for words, for the truth “better than a few weeks ago.” you know that's not what he wants, so you give him more and it easy to be honest with him “i’m not sleeping through the night, Kara is still having nightmares.” you hesitate “so am i. i’ve got that appointment with the therapist. but i’d like to stay with Kara, until she goes back to work.” 

j’onn agrees “you're the person she's relying on most to recover from this. but if I don't think you, or supergirl, are ready to return to the field, i will not hesitate to pull you.” 

you nod “just give us time. we’ll give our best.” 

j’onn smiles “she said the same thing.” 

\-- 

you both recover in pieces. getting back into the shape is the easy part. you can play on Kara's competitiveness until she's kicking your ass in push-ups without breaking a sweat. 

you however, you sweat. so much. but you don't mind, it's worth it for the smile on Kara's face. 

it comes out more and more, especially when james and winn are around. you come back from your second therapist appointment and they're playing scrabble. high stakes scrabble apparently, for the last slice of pizza. 

you steal it, to the group's dismay. 

[it’s worth it for Kara’s smile]

\-- 

therapy sucks. not wholly, only the parts where you have to relieve what happened, when you talk about the flashbacks and the panic that consumes you every time Kara calls. 

you tell her, the therapist, about after, a time when Kara called you and said she was going to be late. just left it at that. you, home alone, panicked. tried calling her and calling her, getting nothing. 

nearly in tears, hyperventilating against the kitchen counter until Kara walked in. she was oblivious to your panic until she had exited the elevator. heard your broken breaths and ran to, almost through, the front door. her hands on your shoulders, promising that she's okay. she's okay. 

you hate how palpable your fear has become. 

your therapist, dr. kirth, is understanding. she talks you down from the panic, guides you on how to talk to Kara about it. part of you has always know you could never do this healing alone. 

\-- 

but you work on it. you do. you go to the therapist twice a week, you're in the deo gym all seven days. it's not that you're behind, or out of shape, but you need to be stronger. you know what kind of evil exists in the world and you won't let them hurt Kara, not ever again. 

so you work hard. 

and you train with Kara again. 

you love it. she does too, the clear signs of progress when she beats you for the very first time. 

you are both, somehow, finding your way back to before. although perhaps there is no before in this present. Kara is still living with you, still having nightmares. 

you get bruises just trying to wake her, but you don't mind. for her, you never have. 

\-- 

as supergirl returns, so do you work your way back into the field. j’onn only signs off once dr. kirth clears you. 

it's a tedious process. 

but you are here, you are alive, you are fighting and saving lives. with supergirl, with your little sister.

\-- 

it is six months to the day and Kara shuts off the tv, looking at you “i want to take you somewhere.” she prefaces. 

“it's nearly midnight.” you remind her, you both have work in the morning. 

“trust me.” it is not a question, nor is it a command, it is a request to meet her halfway. 

to climb on her back and watch as national city fades in the distance. soon there is nothing but stars and water and moon. 

“here.” Kara says, hovering, looking around “i flew here with the bomb.” 

you grip her shoulders, nodding against her back. you think of the fear this place held. what it almost bore witness to. now though, now it's beautiful. a clear night sky, the whole universe spread around you both. 

you soak up this space until Kara flies you both home. 

\-- 

you survived. she survived. you aren't quite sure how she made it, but she did, and here she is. 

you watch supergirl catch a falling school bus, put out fires, and re-arrest aliens. you are the first person she checks in with after every case. over comms, saying your name until you give the okay. it's how you have come to work. 

you love her, you would die for her. she has always carried the same in her heart. 

love drives you, bonds you, carries you through. 

she is your little sister after all. 

[and she has done things you have never wanted her to have to]

**Author's Note:**

> I chose to make this side of the story it's own entity and not an addition to It's You, because I feel like it stands alone in what it tells and how it reveals Alex's emotions to us. Thank you to everyone who requested this, and to those who left comments and kudos on the last. If you read this far, thank you for reading - it's the readers who make the story whole.


End file.
